


Crimson Crimson Crimson

by glitterburg



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterburg/pseuds/glitterburg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is red too, or well it was. It lost its privilege to be red, so now it’s disgraced, sorrowful black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Crimson Crimson

Beautiful.

The sight of the dozen different shades of crimson splattered across the grey carpet is fascinating.

It’s vivid where it barely stains the textile and dark in the deepest pool on the floor.

It’s most gorgeous on bare skin though. Bright and kind of shimmery in the direct light and very slippery velvet, liquid.

She feels it in her fingers, urging her to move, to paint something with it, but before she can press her hands against white walls, her brain send her the alarm: waste.

And she doesn’t want to waste that crimson. It’s too beautiful red to taint it with the dull whiteness of the wall.

But what to do with it, what to do with it then, what to do, what to do... She turns her head from one direction to the other, looking for something, anything in which she can collect all this perfection, but there’s nothing. Not even an empty glass lying around.

She turns toward him then. She knew that his crimson would be the most pretty, she’s been so so so sure of it. And he didn’t believe her, and so she needed to prove it to him, and she was right, hah, she has been right all along.

“Do you see now?” She asks him with a smile, and reaches out to get unruly locks of hair out of the handsome face.

Oh. She remembers now. Crimson looks best on bare skin, and it’s mesmerizing on his face indeed. She scrambles closer and takes both sides of his face in her hands, and her eyes brighten when their skins share the colour finally.

“Can you see it?” She repeats the question, but it’s in vain, because she still doesn’t get a response. “Can you hear me...?” She asks then, unsure.

Impossible, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t not see it...

Involuntary tears come and she doesn’t understand why, she doesn’t understand why this is happening. She didn’t mean it to go bad, she didn’t mean to take his sense away, she didn’t mean to... She just wanted him to understand her so much, what she feels. He calls it obsession because the doctors told him, but psychiatrists are crazy, of course it’s not an obsession. She just thinks red is beautiful. Every shade, each of them, all of them, the ruby, the burgundy, rose, maroon, scarlet, wine red...

She looks into his eyes, and finally they’re staring back at her, and she can see conscience in them. Everything’s fine after all because he can hear her at last, he is able to understand her, and she can see that his lips are starting to move, forming words she cannot hear.

“Louder, I don’t hear you,” she tells him, but he ignores her request.

At that moment, the door flies open and so many people rush inside so quickly that she’s unable to count them – doesn’t even have a chance, because before her mind can even process the sudden change in environment, she finds herself pinned to the carpet by two strangers in sickly green clothes.

“What are you doing?!” She screams when the rest of the green people crouch down around him to taint all the red on his skin with yellowish white cotton. “Leave him alone, leave him alone!!! LET ME GO!”

She trashes, flings her arms, kicks, bangs her head into the cushioned floor, but she’s alone against a lot of power, and her body isn’t strong enough. One of the green ones sit on her hips and pins her forearms with both of his knees, and she whines when the needle breaks her skin. Soon after, her vision fades away and only black remains, but that doesn’t stay long as well, or at least she doesn’t have to bear the sight; her mind slips into a hole that swallows her in one piece.

\---

They say she almost killed him. They say they kept him in hospital for a week, because he lost so much blood.

But that’s silly, she did nothing wrong. She’s not a murderer, she just wanted him to understand why red was so important to her.

She’s back to this lifeless place now, where everything’s white and green and blue, and stinks of antiseptics in every corner. Except for the thick, unbreakable glass, which separates her from him because that’s transparent. She has no problem with transparent. Transparent lets the colours have all the attention, although it’s totally useless today. There’s nothing red to see on the other side.

Except... she’s unable to tear her gaze away from his eyes. Those wonderful, bloodshot eyes.

“Were you crying?” She asks him, voice worried, because underneath the pleasure she feels at the sight, she knows that crying is a bad thing. “What’s the matter?”

“You have to stay here for some time,” he tells her in a hollow voice. “And I think... I don’t think I can come to see you anymore.”

It was just two weeks ago when her doctor said she was well enough to visit home for the weekends. It was the first time after half a year of intensive treatment. And now she’s going to be locked away for a long a time again, and...

“But you’re the only person who visits me,” she responds. Her voice is thin and weak and her heart is pounding so hard it makes breathing hard and painful. “You love me.”

He presses his lips tightly together, so tightly they almost disappear. She knows that expression, remembers it from a long time ago when they still had a normal life without medicines and treatments and bars on her window.

“But I love you,” she squeaks, and the crimson tainted eyes disappear behind fluttering eyelashes for a long moment. “But I still love you.”

\---

Red makes her feel less lonely and calms her down better than medication. It’s a good company, makes her smile when nothing else can. Love is red too, or well it was. It lost its privilege to be red, so now it’s disgraced, sorrowful black. But that’s fine, because she has other ways to see red, even when everybody else thinks she’s finally stripped of all of it for good.

As long as she has her nails and her teeth, and her body to use them on, she’s fine.

So fine the green people even let her out from the room she’s been locked into for an unbearably long time.

The red she sees now is almost as fascinating as her blood was ten minutes ago. It burns her eyes and they water from the blinking brightness of it on top of the car she’s being wheeled into. She wants to reach up and touch it, but her arms won’t move, they’re trapped to the bed she’s lying on.

And then she’s inside with two green men and a white one, and feels two needles in her arms almost simultaneously. It’s alright. She’s already used to them. One’s removed almost instantly, but the other one stays and before the black hole comes for her again, she catches glimpse of a bag of perfect maroon getting hooked just above her head.

\---

She wants him, she wants him, she wants him!

She wants to scream his name so loudly she’ll hear it even on the other side of the globe. But when she does scream, though inarticulately, he doesn’t come.

They speak again, say she wanted to kill herself now. They make her look like some homicidal-suicidal madwoman, and she’s not one. Her psychiatrist comes to visit her when she’s well enough to stay conscious, but she never gets good enough to have the straps removed from around her body.

The psychiatrist tells her she’s going to be transferred to a different institute once she’s released from hospital, somewhere outside the city. She doesn’t want to go. She’s afraid that if she goes, she really won’t ever see him again.

“Why don’t you call him by his name?” The psychiatrist asks her one day.

“I know his name,” she answers stubbornly although that wasn’t the question. “I know his name.”

“Tell me,” the psychiatrist urges her kindly, now that she brought up the topic. “So I can call him and ask to come visit you.”

He’s a nice person, she concludes finally, even though all she felt for the man ever since she knew him was hatred. It never occurs to her that he has been her contact person ever since they first brought her in.

“It’s... It’s...” she stammers, suddenly confused.

Her heart wants to explode from all the pressure her blood’s pumping with. She loves him, so of course she knows his name. But there’s something wrong, she doesn’t... remember somehow. And then the blood suddenly seems to freeze in her body. All she remembers is the exact shades of red his blood looked like on the carpet.

\---

The new place is even worse than the previous one. She doesn’t hope for her situation to get better, she doesn’t even care about that. After all, there’s not much difference. It doesn’t really matter that there are four green people looking after her constantly instead of two now. She gets more space when a new psychiatrist decides four months later that she finally shows development, and some of the restraints are being lifted.

She thinks they are stupid to believe she finally understands that her love for blood isn’t natural and that once she gets the chance to see it she won’t take it. Her pain and lust to see some dulls after a while, but as soon as she’s left on her own for the first time, her nails finally sink into her wrist, and tear, tear, tear mercilessly into the flesh where she can reach, until the disgusting greenery of the garden turns into calming red. And she’s crying in happiness because even though she no longer has anybody in her life, crimson will always stay true to her.

She doesn’t care where she’ll be taken after this one. She falls asleep with the crimson reflecting in her eyes and never wakes to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written: 02 July 2012  
> Used to be published in a different place with a different nickname and different characters.


End file.
